


The Gift

by dearcaspian



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Fluff, Gen, How Do I Tag, M/M, is that the beginnings of romance i see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 01:58:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13870695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearcaspian/pseuds/dearcaspian
Summary: Jaal made sure to give presents to everyone in the Tempest Crew; one may have been a little more personal than the rest.





	The Gift

The intent behind the last gift began much the same as all of the first: a welcoming and personalized gesture of friendship. Jaal wasn’t certain at the time why he had waited for everything to be finished until he began compiling together this one. It was to be no more special than the others, and initially he hadn’t planned to give them out in a fixed order. The time each would take and the availability of the recipients would all sort out into some sort of organization in the end, he figured. What mattered was how the rest of the crew would feel about what he gave them, and if the quality of each item was good enough to be given.

Yet as day upon day rolled by on the ship he was beginning to find comfortably domestic, he slowly understood why that intent had differed. The knowledge frightened him more than he would like to admit, but it was not necessarily an unwelcome fear. It did damper his spirits, however, when it came to the other gifts. He did not enjoy the sensation of wanting to hold something in higher priority than the remainder, when originally his perceptions for the whole crew were supposed to be equal. 

Still, his determination as a whole to make this singular present perfect could not be diminished. Therein lay the problem.

This realization was not allowed to deter him. He put every ounce of care into the ceremonial knife, the poem, the rofjinn, and all else he had decided would make fitting favors. 

These things had been distributed out to the appropriate aliens over the course of a few days, when he could find the right opportunity. So far, everything was received with heartfelt thanks and genuine surprise. The human refused to take off the rofjinn for some time regardless of what else he may have been wearing. The turian’s voice was uncharacteristically soft upon hearing the recited poem, further proving her thanks by asking to have it written down for reference. Even the Krogan was taken aback, although his declaration to start creating a noble history for the knife, so to speak, was a bit worrying. 

Reactions were heartening. Any prior reluctance on undertaking this effort, entirely his own idea, was now gone. He was not officially a part of the Tempest, but the aliens were making him feel like one.

He told himself from the beginning to approach these new species with a decisive hesitancy, and believed he had held up his own promise. Trust was not earned so easily, nor freely given in return, and in some ways he almost lamented how this was the way the Angaran must live. The Initiative’s eagerness to prove how reliable they were won him out eventually, wearing down worn barriers and smoothing craggy edges.

Specifically, one particular Initiative member, whose words and commitment came across as slightly more earnest than the others.

The Pathfinder was bewildering, in some characteristics. His sincerity and openness in all aspects of communication was unlike anything Jaal had seen in a human before. His time seemed always devoted to one cause or another; it was nearly impossible to find him sitting down. Generalizations were best left to the Kett, yet still he had developed a vague standard most humans unknowingly complied to, and that standard was not often favorable. The Pathfinder broke through Jaal’s perceptions and then proceeded to destroy Evfra and the Moshae’s, too. They judged him honestly willing to help in whatever way he could, not only to benefit the Nexus, but to satisfy a harmless need to understand, an insatiable curiosity concerning anything and everything he could get his hands on.

That kind of curiosity Jaal could empathize with. It was what drew him to the Tempest in the first place. 

Now, it pushed him to see what outcome would follow the thing he held carefully in one arm.

Jaal glanced down at it as he exited the crew’s quarters. The packaging was plain brown paper, borrowed from Liam - he hoped this wouldn’t take away from the overall presentation - and rustled quietly as he moved. It was finally completed a week after the other gifts had been finished. 

Looking back, it may have been easier to purchase something similar. Things of this nature existed in the Aya marketplace, but were dissimilar in their composition. Plus, his work with a pen was excellent. 

He stood in the lower hallway, tapping a foot impatiently. Where to start looking? Third shift was just beginning, so most were already asleep. The ship wasn’t that large, but then again the Pathfinder was oddly hard to pin down whenever someone wanted to find him. 

Instinctively, he turned towards the Med Bay. The Doctor tended to have a good idea of where the Crew was at any given time.

It was rather creepy, actually.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss. Lexi sat with her back turned, engrossed in flicking through a set of detailed looking images on the screen above her. 

“Hello, Jaal,” she greeted simply without glancing over her shoulder. 

Jaal stopped in his tracks, frowning.

Lexi spun the chair around, smiling. “I apologize. You have a very specific sound to your gait.”

“Ah. Does everyone on this ship?”

“Some of them. Drack is the most noticeable, although one could hear him coming whether he wanted them to or not. Did you need something?”

He looked to the empty med bay beds, shuffling the package. “Yes. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Oh, not at all.” Lexi promised, gesturing to the screen behind her. “I’ve been reading for hours. I could use the break.”

“Would you happen to know where Ryder might be?”

She looked thoughtful for a long moment. “I’m afraid I don’t. I highly doubt he’s asleep, however. Perhaps down in Engineering?”

“I’ll try there. Thank you.” 

Lexi nodded, waving a goodbye as she moved rather reluctantly back to her work.

Jaal entered Engineering, hopeful. The Nomad sat immobile in the center of the large room, an intriguing focal point amidst countless other pieces of equipment lining the walls. Despite the size of the engine core its hum was temperate, a residual murmur one could hear throughout the entire ship if they listened carefully enough.

Unfortunately, it appeared the area was nearly vacant. Only Cora stood near a terminal some feet away. In the background, Gil’s off-key singing filled the spaces around the engine’s vibrations, the two soothing tones blending into an odd melody.

“Don’t mind him,” Cora said before Jaal could speak. She grinned welcomingly in his direction, momentarily abandoning the terminal’s keypad. “He’s actually been getting better at it. You should’ve heard him a few months ago.”

Angaran singing varied greatly from that of Gil’s species. Jaal politely declined to comment.

“I’m looking for Ryder,” he said instead, peering over Cora’s head. Gil was nowhere to be seen, but his voice still floated back to them. A metal clang followed by a brief interlude of cursing broke through the song.

“Haven’t seen him,” she said, shrugging apologetically. “Not recently, anyways. A few hours ago he was with Kallo and Suvi, but he never stays up there for long.”

Jaal nodded, mindful of Cora’s curious glimpse at the gift. “Thank you. I hope the Mijjarl is doing well?”

Her expression brightened. “It’s blooming wonderfully! The new UV light I bought from Harval is helping it along much better than the previous one. I’ll give you a clipping when it’s big enough.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Jaal enthused. “I’m glad you like the plant. Remember, though, about the-”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” She grimaced. “Lexi is still treating Peebee’s hand from touching the leaves.”

“I’ll… send out another reminder for everyone,” Jaal rumbled, shuffling guilty feet. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” she consoled. “The subsequent inflamed reaction was apparently so interesting I had to stop her from touching it many times afterwards.”

Gil picked up his song again, louder than before.  

“Save yourself,” Cora advised wryly, not even attempting to keep Gil from hearing her. “Go find our unsupervised Pathfinder before he gets too deep into whatever new exploit he’s undoubtedly planning.”

Jaal sighed, holding the present close as he walked out of engineering. Cora eyed him, half amused, half curious, up until he disappeared from view.

He could merely ask SAM where the Pathfinder had gone, he knew, but this felt like an unusual invasion of privacy. SAM was tied into the ship itself and responded to everyone else as politely and helpfully as it did Ryder, of course. Yet the knowledge the AI was quite literally implanted inside his head had some of the crew convinced the two were now the same being. Jaal wasn’t swayed by their beliefs. Regardless, he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question into the nearest console.

Jaal paced the narrow path down towards the Pathfinder’s quarters; it might as well be the next place to look. As he neared the door, a mix of voices floated out to him from the kitchen entrance to his right. 

_ “...that is Feliope, a white dwarf star. It shares a barycenter with Caf, the red giant.” _

“You think I’ll still be around to see it when it becomes a supernova?”

_ “I do not believe so, Pathfinder. Not unless you intend to outlive me.” _

“Hilarious.”

_ “I’ve been working on my humor.” _

Jaal crept in front of the door, wondering if he should perhaps knock, before it slid open automatically.

On the kitchen counter sat the target of his search, chin resting on his knees drawn up to his chest. He looked anything but a Pathfinder at that moment. His hair had been pulled back from his face, small wisps around his ears slipping free from the tie. Civilian clothes replaced the standard Initiative uniform, loose fitting and softer in texture. Before him, projected out from the omni-tool on his wrist, hovered a rotating sphere of nearby star systems, each star name highlighted in white text among the wash of dark blue and orange diagrams. A can of Blast-O’s, partially empty, sat on the countertop beside him.

“And this one?” Ryder asked into the open air, unwrapping one arm from around his knees to point vaguely in the direction of the sphere.

_ “According to current records, that star remains uninvestigated. Likely this is due to the scourge nearby.” _

“How close could we get, theoretically?”

_ “A few hundred kilometers. You have a visitor, Pathfinder,” _ SAM said, simultaneous with Jaal’s loudly cleared throat.

The human jumped instinctively, unfolding his limbs as he looked over, eyes wide. The star chart diminished into particles of scattered light, thrown sideways against the wall, and then vanished altogether. 

“Hey, Jaal,” he greeted. Faint patches of color blushed along his cheekbones, barely noticeable in the dimmer light. “I didn’t hear the door open. You weren’t standing there for long?”

At a rare loss for words, Jaal shook his head. 

“Only a few moments, Ryder. Am I… interrupting?”

“No! Ah, no.” He folded his legs up onto the counter again, shoulders visibly relaxing. “I’m only examining some local star clusters with SAM.”

_ “Hello, Jaal,” _ said the voice from earlier, point of origin unclear.

“I didn’t think most would still be awake,” Ryder admitted, tapping delicately at the omni-tool band around his wrist. “The sound of the drive core is more subdued in here, somehow. Pleasant. It’s easier to think.”

He blinked, staring faintly abashed at the angaran. “Sorry. Did you need something?”

Out of the few imagined scenarios Jaal may have played through, the view in front of him did not fit into any of them. This version of the Pathfinder was previously undiscovered, a mellow, unkempt shadow in comparison to whom he had formerly become familiar with. It was not unpleasant by any means; rather curious, on second thought. 

“Actually, no. I have something for you instead, Ryder.” He gave a cursory glance around the room before stepping in. The gift rustled again in his grip, insistently presenting as a point of conversation where Jaal could not find the words.

“You can call me Hera, you know,” came the reply, accompanied by a subtle smile. 

Odd, Jaal considered, that he chose to say this now. 

He held the present aloft, motioning for Hera to take it from him. “I apologize it took longer than the others,” he confessed. “I did not wish for you to feel left out.”

Hera leaned across the short distance now between them, hands brushing against Jaal’s as he took the item. 

“It is a thank you, in a sense,” Jaal added, watching expectantly as the Pathfinder turned the package over. “For being such benign hosts.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“I know, but I felt some semblance of appreciation was in order, at least. It isn’t much…”

Nearly coy, Hera tugged at the folds along the paper until it fell to the floor.

“This is-”

“I understand from your customs it’s not necessarily a traditional type of gift-”

“How did you-”

“I questioned Liam about it before he pointed me in the direction of certain databases-”

“Jaal.”

Hera held the book up to the light. It’s exterior was in the same style as it’s previous wrappings, plain and brown, but encased in new leather instead of paper. A phrase had been stamped onto the front in black ink, although the translator struggled to convert the words into anything legible. From the quality it was clear the book itself had been bound and purchased elsewhere. Once Hera slipped a thumb between a page and creased the book open, he saw the origins of the content within were not the same. The words were Jaal’s, handwritten again in that language the translator stumbled over. The script flowed and curled around sketches of faintly recognizable characters.

“Jaal,” he said again, reverent, unable to tear his eyes away from the gift. “This is incredible.”

“You displayed such an interest in angaran legends and myths that I thought I would take time to learn some of your own,” Jaal explained proudly. “I did not know your name came from one of them; therein lay the inspiration. They are stories from your ancient Terran cultures I compiled from what I could find, most prominently from the Greeks, who in my judgment seemed a particularly volatile people-”

His words cut short at the pair of nimble arms thrown around his shoulders. Astonished, Jaal gradually pulled him closer, nearly off the countertop from where he leaned. 

“This is why you were so squared away this past week,” said Hera, voice muffled in the hug. “Is this in angaran?”

“A very old version, yes,” Jaal admitted quietly. “It’s more poetic in structure. I thought perhaps what the translator could not provide, I could teach you? In turn, you could tell me more of these stories. I would like to know why your namesake was so hostile.”

Hera sat back with a laugh, attending to the book which now lay across his lap. The embarrassment at his affection was faint enough to ignore, for the moment.   
  
“Thank you,” he praised, grinning. “I love this, truly. Thank you.”

“I am glad,” Jaal simply replied, although there was much more he did not add. The warmth from Hera’s arms still lingered along his neck.

A long silence, not unkind, rested between them in which neither knew what to say to the other.  The request to stay remained so far out of reach yet.

“I must return to engineering,” Jaal excused himself suddenly. “We can go over some of the book tomorrow, if you wish?”

“Of course,” Hera agreed. His enthusiasm overshadowed a suggestion of disappointment. “I’ll see you then?”

As Jaal passed through the door, he turned back just as Hera cracked open the book again, hunching low over the unexplored prose. A feeling, an intent thought mostly familiar before, reached an intense and perfect clarity.

Oh, he thought, and turned the corner.  _ Oh _ .

The subtle noise of the Tempest’s engines descended once more over the kitchen. In their soothing thrum, Hera heaved a sigh.

_ Admirable _ , drifted SAM’s voice through their private channel.

“Yeah, SAM,” Hera said. “I like him, too.”

 


End file.
